


Field Feelings

by littlemissvincentvega



Series: Reservoir Thots [26]
Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Blood and Injury, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Pink Can't Emotion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 12:28:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19229155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemissvincentvega/pseuds/littlemissvincentvega
Summary: two mini fics from prompts from a list i reblogged on tumblr (originally by @spettrocoli) that a friend asked me to do for mr. pink! :)





	Field Feelings

**20:**

**“That can’t be the only reason you’re still here. Are you finally going to admit you like me?”**

Pink looks at you with that familiar expression of ‘I can’t handle people showing their emotions near me’. “W– uh… admit what, what was that?” he asks, scratching his head. He always does this. You’ll try to get him to talk about his feelings and he just plays dumb.

“Why won’t you just tell me how you feel, for Chrissake?” you cry, feeling yourself get more and more agitated; more and more tired of hearing the same old shit from him. Before he can even begin to respond, you stick your hand up, gesturing for him to just be quiet.

“Don’t fight, you guys.”

“Shit!” Pink swats Brown in the forehead a few times. For a moment, you had both forgotten he was even in the car with you.

“Ow! What the hell, man?” he protests, shielding himself. He had been leaning forward with his head between the two front seats. “I was just tryin’ to–”

“Keep out of it, asshole!”

That’s it. By now, you’ve had enough. A full day of bickering, and the guys throwing insults at each other was normal, but today you’re not in the mood. Without uttering a word, you swerve the car to the left, driving into a nearby field. “What the fuck was that for?” Pink splutters defensively.

Fighting the urge to slam your foot on the brakes, you slowly bring the car to a halt. You close your eyes for a moment, collecting yourself. “Pink, get out of the car. Brown, you stay here. I need to talk to this stupid motherfucker alone, ‘cause I’m really not in the fucking mood for all of these stupid arguments.”

Pink’s expression shifts to a softer one, though admittedly he looked a bit scared of you. It’s not often that you bark orders. Doing as you say, he gets out of the car and you do the same, gesturing for him to walk away from the vehicle with you. “Wh–”

“What’s your deal?” you demand, looking up at him.

He can’t help but think you still look beautiful even though you’re angry with him– the way the sunlight reflects off of your eyes… and that’s just one of the many distractions to him. “What do you mean?”

“Stop playing dumb, Steve,” you sigh, feeling tears well up. “You’ve been saying for  _months_ that you’re gonna quit working with me & the guys, but you’re still here. We both know why.”

He gulps. Pink sees you holding back tears, and he wants to do something, something to comfort you, he’s desperate but he just  _can’t_ bring himself to, and he hates himself for it. “Do we?”

“Why the fuck are you so scared to– to just  _tell me_ how you feel?”

“Because– because I,” he stutters, turning to see if Brown’s watching from the car (he’s got his palm directly in front of his eye, squinting at it for God knows what reason). “If I admit to you how much I feel for you, you might leave, you might reject me, you might– Christ, I don’t know, (Y/N)!”

“I’m not gonna reject you, for God’s sake,” you sigh, looking down.

“You might.”

“Well, you might reject me but I’m not being a pussy, Mr. Pussy.”

He manages a hint of a smile at that. Sighing, he takes your hand, fumbling with it in his own. “I’m scared of bein’ that vulnerable to someone. I already told you my damn name, that’s just– it’s preposterous, I mean I’m s’posed to be a fuckin’ professional. So it’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s that I’m scared’a fucking things up. I– I really do think the world of you.”

Hearing him spill out the words alone to you without so much as a breath is enough reassurance for you to know he’s telling the truth. He brings your hand up and kisses it softly, closing his eyes as he does so. “Can– can we get dinner tonight?” he asks, his hand trembling a little as he waits for your answer.

You smile. “Please.”

With that, you pull Pink into a big hug, squishing your face against his chest. Meanwhile, Brown’s watching from the car– he’s lost interest in whatever the fuck he was trying to achieve earlier. “Aww,” he mumbles to himself, watching the two of you hug. Maybe swerving off of the road and nearly giving him a heart attack was worth it. 

 

**61:**

**“Is that blood?”**

**“…..No?”**

“Oh, alright, what is it then? Fuckin’ maple syrup?” Pink scoffs, yanking off his jacket and wrapping it around your arm. “How the fuck’d you manage to do that, baby?” he continues, tying it tight. Working in what’s essentially the mafia, this sort of thing was unavoidable.

“I’m not saying.”

He blinks at you, frowning slightly. “Why not?”

“You’ll laugh at me.”

“I promise I won’t. Pinky promise,” he says, giving you puppy eyes– that had been an inside joke since the first day you met. The first day you got assigned your aliases. Y’know, pinky promise? Mr. Pink? You get the gist.

You sit yourself upright against the warehouse wall (with his help). “Well, I was running from the cops and like, obviously there were, y’know, pedestrians. And one of them had this fucking golden retriever and, oh, baby, you should’a seen the thing, he was gorgeous!” you sigh, thinking back to it.

“And…?”

“Well, I managed to lose ‘em, ‘cause I’m basically The Flash,” you continue, sharing a witty smile with him, “and I took a few shortcuts. Made it here in a couple’a minutes and it was all fine and dandy, but I remembered the dog and tripped over that chair leg.” You point at the culprit, which is now lying on its side from where it had clattered over when it had met your ankle. Pink looks across as the overturned chair and shakes his head, smiling slightly at your clumsiness.

“I’m not done yet,” you say. “I don’t know who the fuck’s to blame, but there’s all broken glass scattered every-fucking-where, so when I fell it cut up my damn arm.”

“Oh, baby,” he hums, cradling you and rubbing your shoulder. True, Pink may not be the best at knowing how to comfort, but with you he’s a lot more relaxed (plus the number of times you’ve had a slight breakdown in front of him and given him pointers had really helped). “Eddie’s on his way with some medical asshole, don’t worry. You’ll be okay, they’ll sort ya out, hm?”

“I’m fine, you don’t need to baby me,” you giggle, though both of you know how much you love the fuss. He presses a reassuring kiss to your forehead, his facial hair brushing over it. You always like the way that feels– it’s comforting to you.

“Oh!” he gasps, suddenly remembering something. With a look of complete concentration on his face, Pink fumbles around in his pants pocket for something and whips out some chocolate. “You want a candy bar?”

“Why the fuck do you have that?”

“Just in case, baby. I’m a fuckin’ professional.”


End file.
